


Not Fade Away

by afoxinsocks



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Episode: s01e03 Brocket Hall, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-08-20 12:34:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8249254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afoxinsocks/pseuds/afoxinsocks
Summary: They go to Windsor on a Wednesday as Autumn turns and gives way to Winter.





	1. Prologue

They go to Windsor on a Wednesday as Autumn turns and gives way to Winter. The Coburgs are postponed, if not indefinitely, then at least for the foreseable future, while Uncle Leopold's threats wear only the flimsiest of veils. It's a major victory, the consequences of which she is sure will come, but not, at least, for the moment. She insists on Lord M's presence at Windsor when he swithers, wonders how he cannot see the importance of his presence, why she cannot be left alone with these people. When he arrives, late and harried looking, she fears she has asked too much of him but they sit together in front of the fire until the embers cool and their light fades and it's effortless.

They ride out most mornings, in air so crisp that the breath from their mounts curls and billows like smoke, and her nose feels cold and damp. The changes between them are imperceptible to outside eyes since Brocket Hall and the ball, unlike the morphing of the seasons, but she feels them keenly. Their conversations are laced in tangled layers of meaning and she grows weary, trying to follow each strand as they unravel, but then their eyes meet and what could be sparks to life, if only for a moment.

Back at the Palace they grow fractious; somehow they’re locked into some endless dance, pressing forward then retreating, circling around and around. They’re playing a game, she thinks, but she’s unfamiliar with the rules, neither of them seem to be winning and while her reign takes shape and strengthens, he seems to fade, skin grey, eyes shadowed.

She’d been so happy before.

~

There are more excuses between them now, lies hidden in plain sight. More missed dinners, postponed rides, urgent matters at the House. When Victoria challenges him, he seems pained, hands wide as he delivers halting sentences about responsibility and duty. She retaliates by making herself unavailable to him. Riding out until her hands go numb through her gloves and she spies his carriage departing, another meeting missed. She no longer expects his presence at dinner and when he does dine at the Palace she chooses Lord Alfred as her preferred cards partner, and feels no small thrill at the flash of jealousy clear across his dark features. When he excuses himself early she makes a show of nonchalance but it's not long before she moves to retire, the night duller for his absence, despite Lord Alfred's best attempts at making her laugh.

Shadows flicker across the wall before she turns the corner to see Lord M and Emma beneath the portrait of Elizabeth, voices hushed. His fingers are pinched on the bridge of his nose, head bowed, as Emma’s hand grips his elbow, shakes it in time with her words, which Victoria strains to hear but can't.

“What would you have me do?” She startles at the sudden volume as his words echo down the corridor, hoarse and imploring, a wide sweep of his arms dislodging Emma’s hand, his own raking back through his hair. The urge to rush forward and find out what ails him, to comfort him is overwhelming. She feels her feet begin to move but halts when Emma takes a step forward, reaches up to cup his cheek and Victoria sees his shoulders sag, a soft smile and a shake of his head as he murmurs something. Melbourne ducks to press a kiss to Emma’s forehead, hand at the nape of her neck and then he’s gone. Emma watches after him until his footsteps fade, and turns and walks the other way.

It’s a long time before Victoria moves, feet heavy, to stand and gaze up at Elizabeth. Closing her eyes, she imagines herself in Emma’s place even as her stomach churns. When she sleeps she dreams of circling rooks against a wintery sky, with faded leaves and empty nests.  


	2. Chapter 2

The days shorten as the nights darken and close in around her. Victoria drinks brandy – although she has little taste for it – alone by the fireside, Dash solid and warm at her feet. She stares into the flames as the images of Lord M and Emma flicker to mind, the kiss burning over and over again. He had not kissed her, that day at Brocket Hall. He had lied to her, held her hand as he rejected her, but he had not kissed her. She had wanted nothing else that day, had never wanted anything else and yet now she’s witnessed him gifting his kiss to another.

It is of no surprise, she thinks, bleakly, as her glass is drained again. She knows so little of such things, a girl playing at being a woman, just as they all think she’s playing at being a Queen. She has no knowledge of love, no experience, nothing to offer but her heart and it is – _it was_ –  clearly not enough. He’d slipped away from her at the ball, eyes mournful, refusing again to speak plainly. Perhaps that too had been a lie. A lie to mask the earlier hurt of his dead wife and his rooks. Perhaps she was a fool to trust him, to trust either of them.

~

“How long have you know Lord Melbourne, Emma?” Across the carriage the words come out louder than she intends; nervousness displaying as temper. The lack of context does not help either, the journey uncomfortably silent before now, punctuated only by Dash’s whines for attention.

Emma, it seems, is unperturbed, as steady as ever and smiles. “Oh, almost a lifetime, Ma’am. Since we were little older than you are now.”

“And you have always been friends?” She looks out the window as the carriage rolls onwards, a façade of indifference that she hopes is convincing.

The hesitation is slight but she catches it all the same, although, perhaps, does not fully understand it. “Yes, Ma’am. We have always been very good friends.” A pause. “William is…very dear to me.”

She turns back at this, feels her tongue sharpen. “And his wife?”

“Ma’am?

“Was she also dear to you?”

“No, Ma’am. Caro and I were…not close. I could never forgive her for what she put William through, regardless of her difficulties. William, though. He is an exceptionally loyal man, Ma’am. He does not give his heart lightly.”

“I think, Lady Emma, you would know more about Lord Melbourne’s heart than I.”

~

The Palace, once a relief of lightness and space, feels oppressive now. She finds herself being snappish and short with her ladies, impatient with her servants and sharp, almost cruel to all others who vex her. Ordinarily, she knows, Emma would send for Lord M to call to amuse and entertain her but if the request is made it is not fulfilled.

There’s another ball soon enough. Another night, another ball, another dance with yet another suitor; charming but unwanted. She’s grown tired of these occasions so quickly, when once they were thrilling and new, now she sees only a lifetime of them ahead, nights spent circling by candle light with people who only see her as some kind of puppet or the very highest prize. Where champagne before made her free and giddy, now she feels heavy without hope of lightness.

It’s a shock to spot Melbourne across the ballroom, she can not remember him being announced and the brief spark of joy is extinguished almost immediately by the realisation that there’s a woman on his arm and a look of open adoration across his features. She’s beautiful, Victoria can appreciate that, even with the distance between them. Long, black hair that cascades in loose curls, softening sharp cheek bones and wide, expressive eyes. Well dressed, elegant. Tall, she realises with a jolt. Young but so very tall. Together they make a most fetching couple.

She accepts another glass of champagne and watches as they move to take up their position on floor. The hustle and bustle of the ballroom begins again. They move perfectly together, smiling, laughing loudly, too loudly to be considered appropriate and the woman makes a playful attempt to shush him. It only succeeds in making him throw his head back, lifting her until she’s spinning, spinning and laughing too.

When the dance ends they’re both out of breath and that’s when he catches her eye. Immediately his smile falters, but he’s moving towards her. She moves too, but then the woman is there, just a step behind, and she knows she cannot stop, cannot speak to him now.  She moves to walk by them, head up, eyes fixed forwards. Then he fills her vision, he’s directly in front of her and he’s all she can see.

“Ma'am – ”

“Please stand aside, Lord Melbourne. I am retiring for the evening.”

“Apologies, Ma'am but if you could oblige me for just a moment, I wish to present the Countess – ”

“I said _stand aside_ , Lord Melbourne.” Her voice rings out as the music and chatter stop and this time he is not there to save her from her embarrassment. This time she watches as his face falls back into blandness and backs away and to the side to bow.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.”

~


	3. Interlude

The cold is bitter and harsh, blurring her vision as she urges her mount on, crouching low over his neck, his mane flickering like quicksilver, strides lengthening in response, body straining. Alongside her she hears Alexander pushing on his dappled grey mare, his short shout of success over the staccato drumming of hooves as the pair pull ahead, racing for the treeline. Behind them, she can hear Lord Alfred trying and failing to keep up, shouting across at his Russian counterpart and then his horse, uselessly. The noise from their horses becomes less immediate and begins to fade.

She could outride then all, she realises. They’d never catch her, her horse too light and nimble. For a fleeting moment the idea is overpowering. _  
_

Closing her eyes, Victoria lets her horse have his head and gives chase.

~

It’s the last time she’ll ever see Alexander, she realises, as they walk through the trees, now bare skeletons glinting with frost. Another change, another loss and it means more than it should, somehow. Victoria barely knows him, after all, but he’s familiar, with his enticing brash sweetness and he is, perhaps, the only one who truly understands her position, a fellow bird in a gilded cage.

He seems softer now, less sure of himself now his marriage to the Danish Princess is certain. They talk about inconsequential things as the weather sharpens and snow begins to fall, their minders a respectful distance behind, a pair of horses each. She twirls with delight, the first snow of the winter, and catches him smiling down at her. She’s ready to defend herself, to slap down any mockery of her childishness, but his smile is kind and his eyes warm and she finds herself incredibly, unspeakably grateful.

~

When they come to part she surprises him, and herself, by rocking up onto her toes to kiss to the side of his mouth. His short huff of laugher brushes her ear as he sweeps to one knee in the snow to kiss her hand. Their eyes lock and her breath catches at the intensity of the sudden connection that flares between them. Perhaps it will always be this way, she considers, as they mount up. Perhaps she will only ever want what she can never have. Or only be certain of what she needs, when it is no longer hers to have. Always out of time or out of place.

~

The ride back to the Palace, until, only a stones through from the stables, she whirls her horse around and digs in her heels. They take off together and this time she keep her eyes open until tear stream across her cheeks and the air becomes too thin to breathe.


	4. Chapter 4

Another vase finds itself sacrificed to Victoria’s temper, her self-restraint shattering along with it, as the memory of the morning’s tantalising glimpse of freedom becomes impossibly distant. Cold, so cold. It seeps into her bones and settles, even as she moves closer and closer still to the fire, watching her skin warm and pinken. The tightness around her chest constricts her, the walls too close, the light from the fire too bright. A sliver of the vase has rebounded to cut the pad of a finger, pricking dark blood from soft skin. She watches as it beads down her finger, drips to the floor. She presses beneath the cut to see the flow of blood increase, droplets smattering the hearth of the fire.  The tears come so strongly and suddenly that she can put up no defence, she simply lies down and lets them take her.

When she wakens it’s to find a soft blanket draped over her body, Dash snuggled by her side and a fire burned down to ash.

~

She dismisses her ladies aside from Emma. The door is scarcely closed when the words rush from her mouth, too loud for the room, for the short distance between the two of them.

“Are you and Lord Melbourne engaged in an affair?”

Even as she says them she feels herself flushing, wonders if her choice of language is correct, if her total naivety is clear from her words. She keeps her chin up, mouth firm. She will not be lied to, not again. There are so many things in her life she cannot control, but with this she will find out the truth.

Emma’s expression is close to horrified. “Ma’am?”

“I-I saw you – that night. That night by the portrait of Elizabeth. You touched him and – and – and he _kissed_ you.”

She turns as her voice wavers, threatens to crack through entirely, bracing her arms on the fireplace to stare down at the fire until the light becomes painful, forcing her to close her eyes, only for the flames to dance patterns behind them. Cold, she feels still, despite the heat licking across her skin. She feels rather than hears Emma approach, the light, warm weight of her hand hesitating above her shoulder. Nobody ever touches her, Victoria thinks, suddenly, as Emma’s hand withdraws. It’s as if she is some kind of doll, to be kept safe at all costs, contained and secure in her glass box. Her mother’s affections have waned since the departure of Sir John, with arguments and sniping replacing what few hugs and gestures of comfort went before. Now she suffers through an endless parade of kisses to her hand from strangers, of the sterile holds of ill-suited dance partners and the cold, watchful eyes of her critics. Nobody ever touches her. Not now.

_I want to dance with you._

_Not tonight, Ma'am._

“Ma’am, please. Please come and sit down.”

And then she is being touched, Emma’s hands gently turn her, guide her to her favourite chair and when her eyes clear and focus, she sees Emma watch her with a smile both incredibly fond and sad. 

“Ma’am, do you remember that day in the carriage? You asked me how long I’ve known William.”

Victoria nods.

“I did not lie to you when I said that William is a dear friend. The truth is that I accepted Portman’s proposal because the man I truly loved could never be my husband.”

“That man was Lord M?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Tell me?”

~


	5. Chapter 5

The carriage rocks her in and out of sleep in the soft, early morning light on their way out of London. Her dreams seep into each other; echos of rooks and princes, flowers and trees.  From the safety of her castle of blankets the world has rarely looked so peaceful. The city gives way to the glinting beginnings of the countryside, beneath a pinkish sky and crisp air. Smart hoof beats rhythmically record their progress as the miles slip away, the claustrophobia of the Palace fading. Here she is safe and free at the same time. It’s a false sense of security, she knows, and one that will soon vanish as she reaches the end of her hastily assembled plan, thrown together with Emma only hours ago.

At her feet Dash thumps from one end of the carriage to the other, whining on his back legs as he scrabbles up against the window, breathing fog onto the glass. He’s never liked travelling but Victoria knew she could not make the journey alone, not again. She pats her lap and laughs as he throws himself up to snuffle at her neck and collapse against her. He’s solid and warm and certain and it’s so easy to allow her eyes to close and her mind to drift.

~

Emma’s story turns out to be a remarkably simple one; a tale of a young woman who fell in love with her closest friend – “ _With the most ridiculous hair, Ma’am. Wild and curly, like a Shetland pony._ ” –  a friend her father views as undesirable due to his family’s reputation. A friend who never learns of her feelings and has his heart captured by another woman; wild and beautiful and reckless.

“And then I met my husband, and I fell in love again, a different kind of love, but love nevertheless.”

The parallels to Victoria’s own situation are clear enough to be uncomfortable, grow more so as the silence stretches out between them as she tries to determine Emma's meaning, because there surely is some meaning to this story, some kind of warning or suggestion but it's too ambiguous, could too easily be misconstrued. 

“Has he changed much, since you first met him?”

Emma's smile is fuller, this time. “In some ways William is still that same boy I fell in love with, Ma’am. Time wears us all down, rounds our edges, makes us cautious where we one forged ahead. William has served his country well, Ma’am, but his life has not had the happiness he deserves.”

This, Victoria knows, is most certainly true. Even before Brocket Hall, he’d carried such a sadness with him, looked so fragile when he thought she wasn’t watching. At times his reflection in a mirror or glass had made her want to rush to him and hug him until he smiled or cracked. And now, now she knew, at least for the past few weeks, that she has been the cause of his latest unhappiness, spurred on by childish jealousy and a misunderstanding of gestures of comfort.

“Please accept my apologies, Emma, for my behaviour.” She returns Emma’s answering smile, knows that her own is the more fragile of the two.

“There is nothing to forgive, Ma’am. It may have been a long time ago, and I’m no longer that girl, but I do remember how it felt most keenly.”

“How it felt?”

“To be in love.”

 

~


End file.
